You, Slipping Away From Me
by mia101
Summary: Brennan gets an unexpected visitor in the hospital. Takes place after "The Wannabe in the Weeds". Am rating M because I'm unsure whether not there will be a follow-up chapter or I'll simply make this a one-shot.


_**A/N: okay, technically i was supposed to work on Sensate Focus tonight (jams, don't be maaaad... i had to get this out. i swear i'll write something in the morning.) but i wrote this little (possibly) oneshot. \ it's pretty different than stories i usually write, so we'll see how it goes. :) xoxo mia**_

**You, Slipping Away From Me.**

a one shot.

The steady and slow rhythm of the ventilator and the blip of the heart monitor had lulled her into half-sleep, her head becoming heavy with exhaustion. She had allowed herself to scoot her chair closer to his bedside, resting her cheek on the thin blanket that covered him, her hand inching closer to his.

But it was his voice that startled her, her eyes snapping open in surprise.

She sat up abruptly, her eyes flying to his face, but his eye remained closed, the even and measured rise and fall of his chest determined by the flow of oxygen flowing from the machine to his left. Frowning, she leaned over him slightly, examining his face for any sign of consciousness.

She was hearing things.

"Bones."

Whipping her head to the right, her eyes widened. He was in a chair across the bed, dressed in his usual t-shirt and jeans, the light blue of the cotton making his eyes seem a warmer brown. She glanced between the figure on the bed and the man in front of her and sat back slowly, blinking several times.

"This is a hallucination – I'm hallucinating," she muttered, closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. "Most likely due to stress and extreme exhaustion."

"Maybe," he said quietly.

When she opened her eyes, he was still there, a worried expression on his face as he regarded her seriously.

"Ghosts aren't possible."

He sighed. "Well, jury's still out on that one. But you're right in this case. I'm no ghost."

She glanced around the room, the silence the only response she received. She was alone, no one around to confirm or deny what she was seeing.

"Maybe you just needed to talk to me," he said quietly.

She looked up at him sharply. "So my own subconscious invented you?" she asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous."

"Either that, or I'm a ghost," he reasoned calmly. "Take your pick."

"That's something Sweets would say," she muttered. "I don't need to _talk to you. _I need you to _wake up._"

"Maybe you're worried I won't."

Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair. "You're not comatose, Booth. You're simply still under the effects of anesthetic after surgery."

He leaned back in his chair, cocking his head to the side. "But wouldn't you feel better if you could talk to me? If I could reassure you I was alright?"

She didn't answer, turning her head from him and staring at her partner, unconscious on the bed. "I know you're alright."

"Do you?"

Her eyes snapped back to the man across from her. "That's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny."

"I didn't _invent_ you," she hissed. "I'm just _tired._ Extreme exhaustion can actually lead to --"

"You know," he said calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's psychology, there, Bones. Sweets would say that your fear or grief is manifesting into –"

"I don't believe in psychology," she snapped.

He paused for a moment, and his eyes were suddenly shining from across the bed, the low lights from the monitors reflecting in them, and when he spoke, there was an element of sadness resonating in his voice.

"Just because you refuse to believe in something yourself doesn't mean it ceases to exist, Temperance."

Her throat closed up and she sucked in a breath, turning away from him, standing up from the chair and walking to the window. "You'll be fine. The doctor said the surgery appeared to be successful." She paused, her eyes sliding over the remaining lights winking in a near-silent city. "Go away," she whispered.

There was no response, and she swung around, but he was still there, seated calmly next to his own injured body. "I can't," he said quietly. "I'm here because of you."

Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, she narrowed her eyes. "I'm not arguing with something that isn't even here – I refuse."

He stretched out, and she could see from underneath the hospital bed that he'd crossed his long legs at the ankles. "Why are you angry with me?"

She shook her head incredulously. "What?"

"You seem angry."

"Well, I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow. "No? You aren't angry I was shot and am now lying unconscious in a hospital bed?"

"That was Pam's fault, not yours," she said through gritted teeth.

"So you're angry at Pam?"

Her temper flared at the mention of he woman's name, and her heartbeat quickened. "Of _course_ I'm angry with her – God, I could _kill_ her for what she did to you."

He looked at her sadly. "You did."

Blinking, she raised her eyes again to meet his. "What?"

"You did – you shot her."

She tried desperately to remember and came up with nothing. "That's not true."

He sighed, uncrossing his ankles and pulling himself to his feet. "You did, Bones. You jumped down from the stage and you grabbed my gun and you shot her – you shot her in the throat. She was going to shoot you."

She swallowed, taking a step back. "Booth –"

"You shot her, and then you looked down at me. What did you see?"

_Blood. The lights dimming in your eyes. You, slipping away from me._

"_Shut up_," she said suddenly, forcefully. "You're _fine, _you're going to be _fine, _so stop trying to make this into more than it is."

"So you are angry."

She fixed her eyes on him, her eyes roaming from his head to his toes. He looked maddeningly healthy in front of her, strong. He didn't have the appearance of someone who'd nearly bled to death beneath her fingers only hours before. And yes, it made her angry.

"Get out of here," she said flatly.

"Not feeling very rational right now, are you?" he asked. "Anger isn't always rational, Bones. And it's okay to –"

"Shut _up!_" she shouted, suddenly grabbing the water glass by his bedside and flinging it in his direction. The glass didn't shatter in a satisfying manner, the plastic merely bouncing across the room, the straw spinning off to the side. But the ice did scatter, sliding across the polished floor, and he stepped back in surprise.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Well you _did," _she said through gritted teeth, stepping closer to him. "You stood up, you stupid fool." Her eyes watering, she snatched the box of tissues beside the bed sending it sailing in his direction, and he ducked as the box hit the wall behind him with a smack.

"You saw she had a gun and you _stood up_," she repeated. "You stood up and stepped in front of it! What were you _thinking??_"

She suddenly stepped around the edge of the bed, jamming her finger against the solid muscle of his chest, her eyes burning with unshed tears. "_What _were you _thinking?"_

He grabbed her wrist, holding it firmly, and for a moment she struggled, but he didn't back down. He held her gaze, his own eyes shimmering. "Temperance…."

"Tell me," she pleaded. "Tell me _why, _why you would do that, why you would be so _stupid._ God, Booth… what were you thinking?" she whispered, her voice catching.

He was quiet for a moment, and she could see the tightening of his jaw, could feel his pulse even as he squeezed her wrist, and for a moment she thought he might refuse to answer her.

"You," he said finally, his voice unsteady. "I was thinking of you. She was pointing a gun at you, she was going to shoot you."

A part of her wanted to collapse against him, to have his arms come around her they way she knew they would, holding her tightly. But it was her anger that flashed within her again, and she wrenched free from his hold and shoved him hard, square in the chest, and he stumbled back in surprise.

"You're not supposed to _do that!_" Her face flushed red with fury as she shoved him again, and this time he held firm, anticipating her attack.

"You could have _died_," she swore, gasping, Grappling with him, she tried to both escape his embrace and to inflict some sort of damage. "You could have died and you would have –'"

"Left you?" he finished, successfully grabbing her by the elbows, forcing her to desist and stop fighting. "Abandoned you, Temperance?"

Her lower lip quivered, her eyes finally spilling over. "You promised," she whispered. "You promised me, you said I could trust you, that I could _count _on you, that –"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, his hands leaving hers hesitantly, to disappear into her hair. "But I'm still here, I didn't leave you, not yet. Don't –" His voice caught, and he tightened his grip on her. "Don't give up on me. That's not what you and I _do_, we don't _give up_."

His forehead was suddenly against hers, his voice just a breath against her cheek. The scent of him, the combination of his soap and aftershave and everything she recognized was all there, making her believe. "We're fighters, Bones, you and I. We fight until the end, and it's not even close to the end."

She shuddered, sucking in several deep breaths, her fingers finally clutching onto the cotton of his t-shirt as she clenched her eyes tightly shut. "Promise me."

"This isn't the end."

And she cried. All the tension she'd held inside during the ride in the ambulance and the hours of surgery and sitting by his bed while he'd slept; it all tumbled out until her chest was heaving and her entire body shook with relief and fear and exhaustion against his. Hot tears flooded from her eyes, her chest ached, and she buried her face in his shirt, soaking the cotton.

_This isn't the end._

He held her, his arms strong and secure, and when she couldn't cry any longer, she lifted her head again, meeting his eyes. And she stood on the tips of her toes, her damp face lifting towards his, reaching, until she was pressing her mouth against his own. Her arms wound around his neck, tugging him down, crushing him to her, and she clamped her eyes shut as she kissed him, capturing his lower lip between hers, tears still streaking her cheeks.

He kissed her back, his mouth warm against hers, his breath coming unevenly and in excited bursts, nothing like the evenly regulated inhalations of the man on the bed beside them. He was fully alive as he kissed her, she could smell and taste and _feel _him, and when he pulled back, she tried desperately to catch her breath.

"Wake up," she pleaded, her mouth still only inches from his own. "Please wake up and come back to me."

He smiled then, a smile she knew he reserved only for her, a slow one that stretched across his face and reached his eyes, and he cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping over her lower lip. His head dipped down and she closed her eyes again, anticipating his kiss, but instead his voice was next to her ear.

_"I will if you will."_


End file.
